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About Me

I am a below knee amputee. More importantly, I am also Mommy to two boys, a very active 10 year old (Robby) and an mischievous toddler (Timmy). I have learned that being a parent with a disability can create some unusual and sometimes humorous situations.
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Friday, November 15, 2013

Momom Strike!

This Momom is on strike! Although I wish I could relinquish all
household responsibilities, I realize that this would be irresponsible
and not feasible. Therefore, I am going to pick and choose my battles
and for right now, my issue is dinner.

Despite
the fact that my working hours are equal to those who work outside the
home, I remain responsible for all meal preparation. Between appointment
visits, report writing and conference calls, I must contend with the
daily stress of what to make for dinner. I love to cook, but the fact
that I have to do it everyday is becoming draining!

A
few days ago I was assigned a report which took top priority. The
deadline was looming and the project could equate to a huge contract for
the company. All other duties were put on hold and I concentrated my
efforts and energy on creating the best document possible. Despite the
stress, I still found time to make dinner. With limited time and a
diminishing pantry, I resorted to a staple dish from my childhood. I
made Sloppy Joe pie. It wasn't gourmet, but it was warm and
quasi-nutritious so I felt comfortable that my dinner obligations were
met.

Admittedly frustrated by the report, I
called the boys to the table for dinner. Both of them took one look at
the Sloppy Joe pie (Manwich topped with cheese served over a biscuits
crust) and they summarily scoffed and turned up their noses. Robby
absolutely refused to try the dish, eating only corn for dinner.
Meanwhile Scott picked at and pushed the food around on his plate,
stalling like a toddler who was afraid to try something new.

Needless
to say, both finicky eaters left the table hungry. My aggravation level
hit a feverish pitch when Robby complained about being hungry 10
minutes after I finished cleaning up the culinary flop. My inclination
was to allow him to be hungry or to pour him a bowl of cold cereal.
Scott's relentless lobbying resulted in my acquiescing and cooking a
frozen pizza for the picky pair. In my personal act of defiance, I left
the pizza on the table. I informed them that I might have been relegated
to short order cook, but I was by no means a waitress.

Of
course the issue escalated with Scott blaming my reaction on pregnancy
hormones. A note to men who may be reading this blog: never blame a
conflict on pregnancy hormones. It does nothing to smooth the situation!

I
threw down the gauntlet and challenged the boys to make dinner tonight.
I'm not helping with the planning or the preparation. I want them to
realize that this everyday task can become draining and stressful, both
of which can be magnified when appreciation is not demonstrated. I
fully admit that my refusal to cook dinner is the casualty of the Battle
of the Sloppy Joe Pie. I'll try to put the "pregnancy hormones" on the
back burner and graciously accept and eat whatever they prepare,
although I have to admit that I secretly want to turn up my nose and
refuse to eat.